Chapter 45 - Through Countless Battles (1)

"Come on!"

Platoon Commander Vengeance shouted and brought his sword down. The mustached man held his blade parallel to the ground and cut at midsection height. Their swords met. CLANG! The instant the blades collided, the mustached man stepped forward, putting his weight behind the push. Focused entirely on swinging his sword, Vengeance was helplessly flung backward. "Oof!"

He lost his balance and went beyond stumbling backward to tumbling head over heels, kicking up dust as he rolled. He came to a stop right beside Encrid, his head tucked between his legs. Their eyes met. A brief silence settled between them. A cold wind swept in from somewhere, and Vengeance's face turned scarlet.

Encrid chose his words carefully. "... You said you came to save me."

Vengeance's eyes trembled violently.

"Why's that bastard so strong?"

Encrid let out a hollow laugh. Seriously, he'd said he was here to save him. Why had he gone down in a single hit? Vengeance rolled once more, got to his feet, retrieved his fallen sword, and took his stance again.

"Fucking bastard."

He glared at his opponent, then shouted, "Shoot!" Half his platoon were archers.

"Give him everything!"

Arrows flew at his command.

"Block them!"

"Shields up!"

Several enemy soldiers who had been close on the mustached man's heels sprang forward and thrust out their shields. THUD-THUD-THUD! The shields stopped the arrows. The timing was impeccable.

Peering over them, the mustached man fixed Encrid with a terrifying glare. Then he snatched a shield from one of his men. Holy shit.

Encrid clenched his teeth and sprang to his feet. Searing pain shot through his leg and back where the quarrels were lodged. He didn't even have time to groan. GRRR.

Beside him, the panther bared its fangs. In that brief interval, the mustached man's shield had drawn alarmingly close. "Crazy bastard!"

Vengeance shouted in alarm. Enduring the pain, Encrid drew the shortsword from Vengeance's waist. SHING.

The mustached man was already right in front of them. Jumping back was out of the question. WHOOSH.

Vengeance swung on a diagonal across the enemy's blade, intending to stop his charge with brute force. The mustached man feigned a clash, then cocked his wrist and withdrew his sword, letting Vengeance's pass. SWISH.

Vengeance's sword sliced through empty air. Behind him, the panther kicked off the ground. But the mustached man was no ordinary soldier. He angled his shield downward, blocking the charging panther's path and knocking it aside. "Yow!"

The panther flew sideways with a cry. All of this had happened within mere seconds of the man's charge. Shortsword in hand, Encrid sharpened his focus until only he and his opponent remained in his mind.

Concentrate on a Single Point.

His injuries, his relief, the shifts in his emotions drew him into profound concentration. For an instant, time seemed to stretch. He saw the mustached man's bloodshot eyes—and, at the same time, his hand. The man held the very end of the grip, just above the pommel, extending his reach to cut Encrid down in one stroke. From there, he swept his sword through an arc, from high to low. Encrid hadn't even seen him raise it, yet the sword was descending. The edge came at him like a guillotine blade. It seemed to tell him that this was enough, that he should repeat today again.

Encrid hated that. He held his breath. There was no time to exhale, much less whine about the pain. He had trained in Heavy Sword Technique, but the fundamentals Ragna had taught him couldn't get him through this.

Then what?

Of the dozens of sword arts he'd learned, practiced, watched, and imitated, which could he use now? He had suffered through countless attacks, studying them over and over. He had always kept watching, always kept learning.

His body raised the sword on instinct. A shortsword couldn't withstand much impact. If he tried to block with force, it would shatter along with him. The mustached man was certain of victory. He would take this infuriating bastard's life. WHOOSH. TING, SCREEE. THWACK! In short, the mustached man's strike failed. It only cut Encrid's shoulder. Blood welled from the deep wound, but Encrid hadn't died. The man hadn't killed him. "You."

Instead of attacking again, the mustached man stared wide-eyed as a startled rabbit. Disbelief filled his eyes.

"Where did you learn that?"

Encrid answered his shout honestly.

"I learned it fighting." Mitch Hurrier had demonstrated Flowing Sword's redirection techniques before Encrid countless times. His skill at deflecting a blade was truly superb.

In that moment of danger, the technique had emerged unbidden. As the mustached man's sword descended, Encrid caught it on his shortsword, guiding it aside and dissipating its force. He met the force with the middle of his blade, then loosened his grip to let the strike flow past. Had either his application of force or his timing been wrong, this couldn't have happened. He wouldn't have escaped with just a cut to the shoulder. Even as he answered, Encrid was astonished.

'That actually worked.'

He had watched it, suffered it, and studied it countless times, but this was his first time using it. No—he had succeeded on his very first attempt at a technique without grueling practice.

It was astonishing. For someone as desperately untalented as Encrid, it was unthinkable. His heart raced at this first-ever experience. After all, deflecting an opponent's blade with the Flowing Sword Technique wasn't something an ordinary amount of training would let one even imitate. "You bastard!"

Behind the mustached man, Vengeance recovered from his missed swing, wheeled around, and charged with a shout. The man turned, knocked aside his sword, and covered his front with the shield again. THUNK!

An arrow lodged in the shield. A skilled archer had taken aim at him, but he had blocked the shot. CLANG! CLANG!

The mustached man stood his ground and exchanged a few more blows with Vengeance. He glared at Encrid with blazing eyes, but Encrid was only staring at the shortsword in his hand. It was already too late to charge again and kill him. In fact, if they were pinned down here, they could all die. The mustached man turned.

"Retreat!"

He shouted and backed away, but couldn't leave without addressing Encrid.

"I won't forget you." Encrid answered with complete sincerity.

"You can forget me."

He meant it. What good would remembering him do? Vengeance's platoon didn't pursue them farther. Vanguard or not, they were already far ahead of their allies. If they pushed any deeper, a counterattack could wipe them out. "Hey, your shoulder!"

Vengeance glared after the mustached man until he withdrew, then returned to check on Encrid. Blood was streaming down his shoulder. He'd blocked and deflected the strike, but it couldn't have been perfect.

Still, he smiled. 'That actually worked.'

He repeated the thought he'd had when the technique first succeeded. He tried to recall how he'd deflected the sword, but couldn't remember it clearly. His body had moved on its own.

Exhilaration welled up inside him. Nothing like this had ever happened before. "You crazy bastard, is this any time to smile?"

Vengeance came over and wound cloth tightly around his shoulder.

"No bandages! We're pulling back now. Third Platoon, fall back!" He withdrew his platoon. The battle was already won. The Company Commander had ordered them to pursue the enemy's rear, but not too far. Having been badly burned by the spell, their own side needed to regroup. "You've lost too much blood."

Vengeance spoke as he supported him. Encrid looked at the man holding him up and said, "We have to take the panther too."

They had saved each other's lives. He couldn't abandon it now. "You crazy bastard. Worry about yourself."

Despite his words, Vengeance also retrieved the panther that had been knocked away. Encrid checked it for injuries and saw blood trickling between its teeth. 'So that was the wet stuff running down my back.'

It hadn't let go of him even as its gums bled. Encrid cradled the panther in his arms. It wasn't heavy. How had such a body produced that much strength? WHIMPER.

The panther moaned in his arms.

"Let's go!"

Vengeance supported Encrid as they left the battlefield. Partway through, Encrid began drifting in and out of consciousness. He had lost too much blood.

The ferryman of the black river appeared in midair and asked, "Hey, why do you go that far?"

The blood loss was making him hallucinate. Too weak to answer, Encrid simply stared, and the ferryman continued. "You can just start over."

"It repeats. Endlessly, over and over."

"Why go that far?"

"Today will start over anyway. What's wrong with taking it easy?" "Settle down. Stop. Hone your skills and face today again. If you die, you can start a more perfect today."

"Ah, is it the fear of death? No, you'll get used to that if you keep at it. What does it matter if you lose half your mind? Who's watching? Who would know? That today is yours and yours alone." Encrid didn't have the strength to open his mouth. He could no longer walk properly and was being half dragged along. So he answered inwardly. Why should he settle?

Why wouldn't he give today his all just because it repeated, because he would get another chance? If he did that, no matter how many repetitions passed, he'd remain in the same place. Living that way would trap him in today.

Then there would be no tomorrow. Without tomorrow, there was no dream. Without a dream, nothing meant anything. 'I don't want to stop.'

Even if each laborious step took him only a quarter as far as anyone else's, he wanted to move forward. That was how he wanted to live.

Even if he couldn't become a knight, he wanted to struggle with everything he had to become one. TAP.

Too weak to walk, he went limp, and his foot caught on a protruding stone.

"Don't die."

Vengeance muttered right beside his ear. His vision was hazy. He couldn't see clearly ahead. At some point, the ferryman of the black river had disappeared. Encrid felt he now understood what kind of curse this was.

"I think I could do better if I started over."

Repeating today was bound to bring such thoughts. But not for Encrid. He always wanted to walk toward tomorrow. He knew instinctively that a failed tomorrow was better than a perfect today. 'If I settle, it's over.'

That was why this was a curse, not a blessing. Keep repeating today endlessly, and the next day would never come.

At the end of that train of thought, he asked himself, 'So was this the best I could do?' He didn't know. Only a god could know what a perfect today looked like. The "today" Encrid had lived owed half its outcome to luck. There was no guarantee that luck would come again if today restarted.

In that case, all he needed to do was walk toward tomorrow, as he always had. He felt a warm body in his arms. Looking down through bleary eyes, he found the black panther gazing up at him. He could see its lake-blue eyes.

Then he lost consciousness. He thought he might die. Then he would repeat today again. He wouldn't despair over failing to reach tomorrow. He would repeat it and struggle his way through life once more.

Darkness came and enveloped Encrid. A wanderer invited into a world of darkness, he lost consciousness.

* * *

"Did I choose wrong?"

The ferryman of the black river appeared. Encrid heard him muttering to himself. He turned his head, revealing that same featureless face, smooth as a black mirror.

"We'll see." Those words brought Encrid to his senses. He opened his eyes to the ceiling of a tent.

"Oh, you're alive? Thought you were really going to croak this time."

He heard Rem's voice. His shoulders, back, legs, side—everything hurt. His head spun too.

"That last cut to your shoulder did a number on you. Don't know who did it, but the bastard cut you good."

Rem kept talking. Encrid blinked a few times, his half-scattered wits returning. Then he noticed warmth against his side and lowered his hand. Pain twinged around his shoulder. Soft fur brushed his fingers.

"Prrr."

The black panther made a contented sound, apparently enjoying his touch. 'I made it past today.'

"You're going to make a habit of passing out."

"You think I faint because I want to? I'm thirsty."

"Are you?" Encrid saw Rem sitting with his arms folded, and Big-eyes standing behind him. Big-eyes brought him water. A few sips moistened his throat at once, like water poured over parched earth. "Man, our Squad Leader sure is hard to kill. See? He's alive."

Big-eyes spoke as he watched him drink.

"You lost far too much blood," Jaxon remarked matter-of-factly. Farther back, their devout squad member was praying.

"Lord, I offer my thanks for answering my prayers." After watching Encrid quietly, Ragna asked, "Are you all right?"

"Not bad enough to kill me."

He could say that because he'd survived. Because he'd made it past today and greeted tomorrow.

With a simple smile, Encrid lay back down.